


If It Means A Lot To You

by lucifersshroud



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-08
Updated: 2012-08-08
Packaged: 2017-11-11 17:33:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,463
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/481084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucifersshroud/pseuds/lucifersshroud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean's not sure how much longer he can wait for his angel to come home</p>
            </blockquote>





	If It Means A Lot To You

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Uh, really just language and buckets of angst.

I feel like a goddamn army wife. Constantly waiting around for Castiel to give me news of the war, or just to have a spare moment to come down here at all and assure me that he’s all right, that the war in Heaven is going well, that he’s sure he’ll be able to stay soon enough.

It’s been three years, and nothing has changed. I’m still left achingly lonely the majority of the time. Cas visits once every two or three months, sometimes not even that often. And when he does visit, he’s not with me long. Usually only a night. If I’m lucky, I get a full day. Since this war started, though, I’ve never seen my angel for more than a day at a time.

“All in good time, Dean.” He keeps saying. “One day it won’t be like this.” He keeps promising.

And I keep replying, “Will you even be around? Will I even be around?”

Every time he tells me the same damn thing.

“I will work my hardest to still be around, and even if your mortal life ends, I’ll visit you in Heaven.”

I remember when it wasn’t like this. When it was easier. When everything was easier. Well, all right. Not everything. We still had the apocalypse to deal with, still had crazy ass monsters all over the place, still ate at crappy diners and stayed at crappy motels, but at least then we were properly together. Cas stayed with us. Stayed with Sam and me on all our hunts, not simply the ones that involved celestial objects and/or origins.

I remember first realizing my feelings for the angel. First there was the denial, obviously. Denial that lasted for months because I’m “a stupid, stubborn idjit,” as Bobby so eloquently put it. Then the fear kicked in. Not about being gay for a friggin’ angel of the Lord. That was more or less part of the denial. No, the fear revolved around telling Cas. Sam told me I should. Bobby told me I should. Hell, I even talked to Gabriel, and _he_ said I should. So, I finally did one day. I’ll never forget his exact words.

“Well, Dean, I cannot tell you why I am feeling this but there is a weird fluttering in my stomach and I feel sort of lightheaded. Did you trigger some sort of spell or something?” I simply laughed and shook my head. Told him that there wasn’t any black magic involved. That he was only either incredibly disgusted, or incredibly happy. “I…I am happy, Dean. Very, very happy.” And that was all the encouragement I needed to shove him against Bobby’s kitchen stove and kiss him until his knees went weak.

We’ve gone from hardly ever being apart to never seeing each other.

I’ve nearly given up a few times. When it’s been a certain amount of time since I last heard from Cas, I almost break down. It seems, though, every single time that I’m about to completely lose it, he appears right beside me. He holds me. Kisses me. Quiets my cries. Whispers that everything will be all right, that he’s sorry, that he wishes as much as I do that it didn’t have to be like this. And then he’s gone. And I’m stuck missing him again.

Sometimes he shows up when I least expect it. I’ll be on a hunt, and I’ll come back to the motel, find him standing in the room with a tired smile. Sam’s always courteous. He leaves, gets another room. I always laugh when he tells me he made sure it was across the motel from us. Then it’s just Cas and I.

There are times when we don’t say anything. When we hold each other, kiss each other; love each other as if it’s our last day alive. Any day could be our last, though, especially in our position, so yes, the expression is quite literal in this circumstance.

There are times when we do the same, but whisper sweet nothings to each other the whole time. “I love you.” “I miss you.” “You’re beautiful.” “I can’t wait until you can stay for good.” “I can’t wait until I can stay for good.”

There are even times when all we do is talk. About the war. About our hunts. About our relationship. About our future. About everything imaginable.

Sometimes our talks turn into arguments. Fights. Like tonight’s.

“You’ve been telling me this crap for three years! When am I gonna see some results, huh?!”

“Patience, Dean. It may seem like a long time because you’re a human but it’s rea--”

“I don’t care how long it _really_ is, Cas! I don’t! It seems like a long time because it _is_ a long time. To me. And doesn’t that matter? Doesn’t it matter what I think or does the whole friggin’ universe revolve around you and your friggin’ war?”

Silence. Silence in which I’m staring at Castiel’s pained expression with my teeth gritted.

“You really think that I’m the selfish one in this mess? Do you _honestly_ think that?” I shrug.

“I don’t know what to think.” And then I’m thrown against the wall. Hard. Stars dance before my eyes. I’m seeing double, but hearing perfectly.

“So even though _I’m_ the one fighting to ensure my _people_ stay _free_ and Heaven stays as _pure_ as it is, _I’m_ the selfish one because I can’t afford to take a break every day to see you?! To help _you_ with what _you_ need? With what this _insignificant_ planet needs?”

They hurt. His words. They hurt so much. They’re fire, singing off all my skin. They’re a blade, twisting in my spine. They’re a whip, lashing repeatedly until I’m bleeding and broken. I can’t even find the strength to respond. I simply bite my lip, glance down at the floor.

“You never take into account the bigger picture. Never take into account what needs to be done and what will be affected by this much beyond your life time, but well into mine. The universe will still be around, still need to be saved. But you don’t think about that, do you? No, you think about yourself. And your lifetime. And how much time you have left with me. About how much you ‘need’ me. Well, here’s the thing, Dean. I love you. I really do love you. But I have _other obligations._ It’s not going to last forever. More than likely won’t even last the rest of your natural life, which in the time span of Heaven, is not that long. At all. It’s the equivalent of a _week_ in your life. Not even. A few days. So why don’t you grow up, and deal with it.”

Blinking back tears that I refuse to let down. Not while he’s here. With how enraged he is, he probably will leave soon anyway. Silence. Silence in which he is panting from yelling at me like an angry parent to their child, and in which I’m doing my absolute best to hold back the waterfall that threatens to pour out of my eyes at any moment. Then I say _it._ What we’ve both been fearing for a while now.

“Then why don’t you just leave for good?” I whisper. Broken. Wavering. Raising my glistening eyes to his face. Shock. Rejection. All I can pick out from his expression. As soon as I notice it, though, it’s gone, masked by his usual stony and emotionless face. I bite my lip. He always says I am the only one to bring true emotion out of him.

“If that…If that is what you wish.” He says. Then there’s more silence. But this time it’s deadly. It’s eerie. It’s awful. A million thoughts rush through my head at once. I find myself speaking before I’m ready. Before I know I mean what I say.

“Yes. Yes, it is. Either you stay now, or you don’t come back at all.”

He doesn’t even say goodbye. I hear the faint flutter of his wings, and he’s gone. Gone forever.

Panic takes over. I’m on the floor screaming his name. Screaming for him to come back. To stay with me. Forever. My voice becomes hoarse from shouting his name so much. From sobbing so much.

But he never returns.

 

A year has passed since that fight. Castiel kept to his word. Not once have I even caught a glimpse of the angel, of _my_ angel. I’m going through the motions. Saving people, hunting things. Family business and all that crap I always talk about.

Sam knows what happened, knows how messed up I am, but he never asks. Never brings Cas up, which I’m grateful for. When I told him about what had happened, I expected a long intimate talk about how what I’m feeling is completely normal, how he went through sort of the same thing with Jessica all _those_ years ago, and how time heals all wounds, and blah friggin’ blah. All that therapy bull that Sammy always likes to talk about.

He just sighs when I come back from the bar after a hunt drunk as can be, droning on and on about how much I miss my angel, how much I regret saying what I said to him because now it feels as if he can’t even hear my prayers. And pray I do. Every single night, I pray for him to come back. Well, more like, run into the parking lot, or the middle of the road, fall to my knees, start to cry, and beg for Castiel to come back to me. Beg for forgiveness. Beg for another chance. But he never answers. Never appears. Yet every single time I still shut my eyes tight, waiting, just _waiting_ to hear that faint flutter of wings. But I never do.

Sam holds me. He just holds me. I’m thankful he never says a word because I’m sure he’d say the exact sort of nonsense Cas always told me. Always lied to me about. Sam pets my hair, rubs my back, puts me to bed. It’s strange, really. When we were kids, I always did that for him. Always comforted him. Always put him to bed, ensuring him he’d be safe as long as I was around, as long as Dad was around. The role switching is utterly ironic. I’d laugh at it if it didn’t hurt so much to so much as breathe anymore after the screaming mach I just endured with Heaven. Well, Heaven never responded. So, screaming match with myself.

After a long hunt one night while at a bar, Sam suggests I get laid. Find someone to take my mind off my angel, if only for a night. I give him a look so brutal, the idea is never brought up again.

Five years pass, and even the handprint on my arm, _his_ handprint, is fading.

I stop praying every night. Stop praying every other night. Every week. Every month. Ever again.

And then after ten years the handprint is gone completely.

It takes Sam the rest of the night to stop my hysterical sobs.

 

At sixty years old, it’s hard to believe I’m still alive with the life I lead. Some way, somehow, Sam and I manage to get out, out of the life, and into a semi-decent home back in Lawrence. Not fully, of course, but we keep under the radar, only dealing with a few demons here and there that still want the Winchester souls as their own.

We’re always well prepared, of course. Enough holy water is in the basement to last at least thirty years. A massive supply of salt that we _sometimes_ delve into for simple cooking purposes also lies beneath the foundation, along with silver blades, iron blades, and all sorts of other enchanted weapons.

As luck would have it, we haven’t had to use any of them since Sam’s boy was born. Neither of us understood why. As soon as that little tyke came into our lives, the monsters and demons left ours, and that’s how it’s been the past four years. “It’s almost as if _angels_ are watching over him.” Sam gets a swift punch in the face for that statement, and never mentions angels while in my presence again. Sometimes I do wonder, though.

“Uncle Dean!” My gaze falls to the floor. My nephew has his arms raised high in the air, urging me to pick him up. Unable to resist his soft blue eyes that remind me of someone I still yearn for in the back of my mind, I lean down and scoop him up into my arms. He immediately nuzzles my neck and grips my jacket with his small fingers. Sam always complains that his son received his mother’s eyes (never in front of him, though, of course). Not that I blame him considering after the woman had this child, she fled the country, leaving Sam alone to take care of a son he never planned to. I always agree out loud, but whenever I’m alone with the boy, I make a point to tell him how lovely his eyes are. Even now.

“You have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.” I say as I hold him tight. He pulls back and I hold him lower so he can look at me. Confused.

“Why do you always tell me that?” he asks, cocking his head oh so slightly over to the side, yet another habit of the one I still yearn for. I smile warmly, hold him tight, close my eyes and sigh, my angel’s face still clear in my mind.

“Because it’s true, Castiel. And always will be, no matter what happens to you in life. You’ll always have your beautiful eyes, even if you lose everything else.”

That night, after Sam and I finally succeed in our efforts of putting his son to bed, after Sam goes off to his room and I go off to mine, after I ensure all the various traps I’ve set are secure, and after I crawl into bed, that’s when I hear it. My eyes snap wide open, my heart leaps into my throat, and I grin far wider than I ever thought possible.

A flutter of wings outside, along with a stony and emotionless statement telling me to apologize to my brother for nearly breaking his nose earlier in the day is heard.

And then I’m running out into the yard at three in the morning. We’re both sobbing our eyes out (something I had no idea angels could do), and we’re clinging to each other as if the fate of the entire universe depends on it.


End file.
